Actions, Not Words
by Alachai
Summary: Sam always was missing something. Maybe if Dean had come sooner, his visions would have never started in the first place. [Rating due to mild cursing].
1. Chapter 1

Actions, Not Words

Chapter 1

Hearing his name being called a few times was what had pulled him out of his state of abstraction. Or, on the other hand, it could have been the gut-feeling that he was being stared at. However, Sam Winchester had just lost at pool. Sam shook his head in defeat, he had never lost a game of pool – Dean Winchester had taught him too well. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't there to coach him.

Or maybe he was. Sam tilted his head to the left, and then to the right – no, if anybody was watching him, it would be from behind. He sauntered, side-stepping his college buddies, to the other side of the table. The only person that could have been watching him was a five year old boy, intensely watching his father play at another table. No, big brother wasn't going to show up anytime soon. It had been three years, and too many emotions had escaped him, yet the bad ones were tugging at him.

Sam stared at the pool stick, long and hard. Maybe it would burst. Spontaneous combustion to a pool stick. That would be interesting to see. He leered down to the green felt; it looked like grass.

"Sam, dude, are you gonna go?" The twenty-two year old looked up to see his friend, Chris, waiting impatiently; Sam was once again forced out of his reverie.

"Nah," Sam placed the stick in his friend's hands, ignoring the glares of the other three college men, and walked towards the owner of the pub.

The pub was new, the wooden floors had fresh coats of gloss over them, and the beer smell hadn't quite seeped in yet. Sam had helped the owner, Tony, build this place. He thought engaging in construction with one of his father's old friends might benefit him, yet he succeeded in diving into more long, drawn out lectures. Why did he leave his family in the first place? He had many excuses, but never really could find the real one.

"Sam," The middle-aged Italian owner looked up, a scar, caused by a werewolf, slid down his left cheek – a black patch over his right eye. "Did you win again?" The man smiled.

Sam shook his head, gazing around. The sensation of being watched, much less stalked, was gripping at him. Maybe Jess had one of her friends guarding him. Maybe one of his buddies had his back. Maybe it was that five year old kid possessed by something. Maybe…

Maybe it was Dean.

The pre-law student frowned and looked down at the bar stools with beer logos on them. "No, Sam," He looked up at Tony, guilt surfacing on his face. "I haven't seen your brother since he was fifteen. And it's been that many years since I've seen John."

Sam swallowed hard; the man knew exactly what he was thinking. Once again, he looked around the bar. Dean was no where to be seen; Dean had no reason to see him – ever again. And it was all Sam's fault. He chose to be alone and independent.

Yet, stronger than ever now, he knew his brother was _there._ Somewhere in Palo Alto. He needed to see him – it was a brother thing.

* * *

Tony watched the boy stride back over to his buddies and to the pool table. Something was wrong – Sam had lost, and the Italian knew with Sam's training, he should never loose. The first thing John taught his son's was how to expertly deceive every player surrounding them and whoop their asses. No, maybe that was the second thing. 

The man slowly limped towards the beer keg, a mug in hand. His place was new, and it was busy. If he had gotten his preference, had won the game of pool, he would have built on a more peaceful piece of property. However, John was a Winchester, and so was Dean; the rules were pure and simple: never play against them, especially when a favor is hanging in mid air.

Now he was to watch Sam, and if something drastic happened, report back to his, as they called themselves, 'employers'.

The mug was full now; he limped to the other side of his bar – the farthest corner which was secluded from nearly everyone.

"He knows," Tony spoke in a raspy, low whisper, even though the music was blearing. The hidden man accepted the beer with a smirk and a nod of his head. "I told him his guesses were wrong, though."

* * *

Shoving the door to his apartment open, Sam tripped in; magically, the keys made it to their resting position on the granite, antique credenza. 

"You're late," The alcohol had melted his brain to the size of a pea, and the sound of his girlfriend's normally pleasant voice, rang out like Hulk strangling a kitten. He grasped the door knob with his left hand.

"T-t-the-"

"I _know_ **you** were out with the guys. You _should have_ **at least** called me! You're _drunk_ Sam," The conversation, to Sam, drifted out like the melody of Bohemian Rhapsody. _It hurt_. Now, Sam realized that Jess had shoved herself out of the sea-foam green chair and was standing with her arms crossed in front of him. "Exactly _how many_ beers did you drink?"

He gulped.

She glared.

"D-D-Dean; I could feel his gaze," His speech was once again drawn out; bile was rising in his throat and Jess's gaze was softening. If he could somehow just make it past the shag-beige carpeting, maybe, just maybe Jessica wouldn't kill him. He blacked out.

* * *

"Thank you for helping me," Jessica looked from Sam, unconscious, sprawled out on their white bed sheets and comforter, to the man in front of her. 

"No problem, he weighs a ton. Has ever since his three-inch growth spurt at thirteen," The man grinned as he shoved a hand through his hair, and then looked down to the college student in front of him, his grin quickly taken over by guilt.

"He got this way because of you, I think," The blonde stood steady, nearly taller then the guest, with her hands on her hips.

"I should go," He began walking out of his hostess's bedroom. It was awkward seeing everything laid out like this. He'd been buy it, God only knows how many times. But the man cowered down to a drunk before him, now had a different life. A life without him.

"I think you should stay," Hazel green eyes met with diamond blue ones and locked in a glare. "I think **_your brother_** needs **you** to stay."

Dean Winchester let out a sigh; the hallway's lights were dim and flickered at that moment. God, she was demanding.

* * *

This has the usual disclaimer - I don't own the boys, or Jess; however, I do own Tony, and the bar, this time around! 

A/N: This stands between its own story, and one in the Fair Warning verse. I've written more to it (where the brothers meet), but am not sure if I should post that part. (Please tell me what you think!).

Beta'd: The wonderful Rae Artemis who took the time out of her busy schedule to check-proof this for me. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Actions, Not Words

Chapter 2

Eight hours later, Sam awoke with a headache that was worse than hell. It wasn't the headache that had awoken him, he concluded; it was the same old sensationally creepy feeling of being watched – or stalked. Blinking, the muscular twenty-three-year-old gave his best attempt at lifting his head up and off of his pillow. No go – his head hit the pillow with a thud as another wave of nausea overtook him. _Exactly how many beers did he have last night? _

The second he closed his eyes, he felt a damp, rough, object being placed gently on his forehead – a soft hand brushed his cheek, another hand brushed back his hair.

"Jess?" He opened his green eyes to stare into her crystal blue ones; this time, thank God, they were gentle and caring. He preferred that side of her. And with that thought he knew she was the one watching him.

"How are you feeling?" He drew in a breath; her voice was gentle, not ringing in his ears like last night. His eyes roamed down – she was fully dressed, not in sleeping clothes. Forcefully, he moved his head to the side – it was only nine in the morning and a Saturday – no school, no work.

"Who's here?" Answering a question with another question was always the wrong thing to spring on Jessica Moore; no matter what state he or she was in, she, unfailingly, got furious. Jess bit her bottom lip, agitated.

"No body," Only when Jessica moved off of the bed did Sam realize she had been kneeling beside him on it.

"You're lying," Before he could stop the words, they were out – and with a touch of Irish heritage, her face grew red in a split second, matching the exact color of her Cardinal's sweat-shirt.

"I wouldn't get into an argument with me, right now, if I were you," With a swish of her blonde hair, Sam watched her leave the room. If Dean had been there, he would have laughed.

* * *

Sam breathed in a deep breath, and then exhaled it out slowly. He always loved the smell of the park's fresh cut grass. When he was little, Dean either walked him, or drove him to the park nearest their motel room. He could remember feeling the grasp of his brother's arms around him, wrestling him for the football – the sound of Dean's heavy groan when he'd loose the game of rock-paper-scissors. Sam always knew to go for the rock; as Dean always preferred the scissors. Although made for little kids, it was a common thing between the brothers; it worked out like a catch-22, their father had made them read that book. 

_No_.

The college student shook his head, visualizing where he was: _standing in the middle of the park amongst games of Frisbee and football, jump-ropes, picnics, and other college students gazing at him incredulously_. He was supposed to be searching for Jessica. She had stormed out on him earlier – he managed to do the few wrong things to make her furious. Simple; but wrong. On days like these, she stormed over to the park; now, she wasn't there.

_But he was being watched_. He hated that feeling.

Cautiously, he did a very slow 360; and in the middle of it, he saw Jessica glaring at him, slowly walking up to him.

"You're here."

"You're always here after we fight. I-I'm sorry."

"I know," That was always the good part about her. "Just please, Sam," She blinked her eyes, emphasizing what she was about to say. "The only time. The **_O-N-L-Y_** time, that you can ever get drunk like that again, is when, or if – but I hope to God it's not if – we break up. Understand?"

He kissed her. She gushed. He just had that way with women.

"I understand. And, I am sorry," There, that statement had more dignity.

"Now, I want you to tell me about Dean," Unfolding her long limbs, carelessly unaware that she might, very well get grass stains on her jeans, she plopped herself down, pulling Sam down with her.

"He's…" God help him, this was the hardest subject he could dare think about. "My brother? Well…" _There_. He felt _it_ again. The sickening feeling that he was being scrutinized.

"You said you could 'feel his gaze?'" She was a damn Noble Prize winner at interrupting.

"Yes, ma'am," It was sarcastic, she punched him jokingly.

"You think _he_ might be here?"

"I don't know," He looked down at his hands resting on the grass, and then he peered over both shoulders. There was a shadow of a person behind a big oak tree.

"_Do you_ **want** him to be _here_?" Sam looked down at his hands again; deftly smashing a red ant crawling on his left thumb. He needed a computer, one of his brother's painful, mullet-rock CDs, another beer, coffee…anything to keep him from answering this particular question.

"I-" Only then did his tongue magically magnetize itself to the floor of his mouth, his teeth grinded together with a thud.

"Sam. You've told me before. You were close. I know that. That's the only information I've been able to get out of you since we got into this whole relationship." He looked up at her; her mouth seemed to be going off like Daffy Duck on a taffy high.

"This," He began, but then paused, letting her rattle on; yearning for the shadow to still be behind the big oak tree, he turned his head – _it was_.

This time though, the shadow was staring back at him. The shadow was clothed in jeans, and a leather jacket. The shadow's hands were placed in the pocket of its jeans, and its green eyes were big with realization that its prey was staring back at it. This realization seemed to be calculating itself into Sam's brain in ultra-slow motion. The shadow disappeared. The shadow was Dean.

* * *

"Sam, dude, what's gotten into you?" Sam blinked; once again he realized his brain was acting fizzled to those surrounding him. He had a reason though; _he saw Dean_. Or maybe it was a shape-shifter version of Dean. Maybe it was just a hallucination of Dean… 

"Saaammm…" He jumped in his chair. Jessica was leaning close to his ear; whispering something – it tickled his hairs causing this reaction; or so he figured.

"Earth to Sam," Tag waved something in front of his face..._Oh_, it was his hand.

"Dude," Jessica's friend, Elizabeth, decided to pipe up this time. Her red bangs were always in her eyes – this _always_ bugged the hell out of Sam, leading Sam to feel sorry for Tag, Elizabeth's fiancé. "You've got an upstairs brain, you should be using it. We're in a fancy restaurant, for goodness sakes."

_Something Dean would say_.

_No sensation of being watched was creeping up on him now. _

_Why did he have to become friends with these people_?

Bile rose in his throat for no reason at all; it was urging him to speak. "Sorry," He could feel Jess patting his leg beneath the table; she entangled her foot with his.

"So, we _finally_ have the church booked!" He stared at Elizabeth. _What church_?..._Oh_.

"That's great," Ava smiled her classic smile; out of all the people other than Jess and Chris, Ava was the nicest. Jessica wanted Chris to hook up with Ava, but Sam, deep down inside, wanted to preserve her for Dean.

_Dean's ghost… _

_Dean's shape-shifter_…

Sam bowed his head, praying that he would make it through dinner.

* * *

"Sam," He _did_ manage his way through dinner. Managed with precisely eight words. 

Jessica took her time laying her coat on the back of the couch they never used. "What is wrong with you?"

"You still didn't answer my question from this morning; I long ago answered yours," He was creating a passageway for a nasty fight. He sneered, she glowered; he brushed passed her and into the bathroom – he was going to take a shower, wipe every thought of Dean off of him.

* * *

"I'm just concerned for you. That's all," She turned the TV off and flipped her bedside lamp on, turning towards him, interrupting his pre-law studying. 

They'd been over this before; one too many times. Sam placed the book down.

"I _think_…I **_know_** I saw Dean today."

_Or his shape-shifter_…

Jessica's face expressed a range of emotions; the one that caught Sam's immediate attention was her knowing expression. She ended with that caring/motherly look.

"Y-you did?" Now she was stuttering.

"Behind the oak. In the park."

Jess nodded, her mouth forming a perfect "O"

"Did he see you?"

"I think so."

"And he is the reason you've been spacing out on me for so long?"

"Huh?"

"It's whenever you talk about him, Sam. Whenever family is mentioned. You cower down, you blank out. You act like your not part of this planet anymore. It's happened ever since we started dating – maybe long before that. I know Sam, I have four siblings; but we're all still on good terms. I'm not sure exactly where you ended things with your family. The maximum information is that your mom died in a fire, your dad is a part time accountant and an ex-marine, and your brother is your brother. He protected you when you were younger. You get bent out of shape when you think you might have seen him. That's all I know."

Sam watched his finger trace the stitching in the comforter. Jessica was out of breath – but she was one-hundred-percent right. That was all the information he had ever given her. She'd given him a whole lot more information about her family than that. And heck, half of the information he'd given her had been lies. He deserved the '_Worst Boyfriend of the Year Award'_, yet he still kept a very expensive ring hidden among all of his hunting supplies. _Could he ever establish that much trust with her? _

Her cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.

"_Hi_…" Her voice dropped below the near-whisper mark, and he scowled as he saw her pressing the volume button on low.

"_I think so…no…no_."

"_I won't…he is…bye_…"

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered as she flipped her phone closed; letting her answer by planting a firm, tender kiss on his cheek. Inwardly, he cringed, finding a whole new level of resentment towards her; _she had **no right** to be talking to his brother_.

Sam closed his eyes; and for the first time in his life, dreamt of fire.

* * *

**A/N:** Ok, I lied... there are going to be four chapters to this story...When the muse hits, it's horrible. Especially in the midst of college exams. 

I'd also like to thank _all_ of the reviewers for reviewing the last chapter! I hope this suited you. And, yes, another Winchester will be popping into the story somewhere around the beginning of next chapter.

_Next Update: Saturday_


	3. Chapter 3

Actions, not Words

Chapter 3

Quickly and professionally, Sam dodged a flying piece of popcorn, and then he turned to glare at Jessica. Days were rare when they would sit on the couch in their living room and watch movies; but Jessica forced him to do it with her this particular morning.

_It was better off this way_, Sam thought. He didn't want to talk to his girlfriend anyhow.

"Sam," Dodging another piece of popcorn that Jess flicked at him, he kept his eyes glued on Sandra Bullock as she sauntered across the screen in a lavender mini-dress; deliberately ignoring the persistent blonde sitting next to him. Watching _Miss Congeniality_ was one of the many quirks of having a live-in girlfriend. Sometimes he benefited from it. And then, sometimes, she went behind your back and talked to your brother.

_It had to be Dean, didn't it?_

_She had on her 'knowing' face, didn't she_?

"Sam!" This time it was the leftover popcorn seeds being belted at him; he managed to throw his body-builder shaped-self off of the couch, and onto the rug.

"Jess," His face grew red. "Would you please **_STOP_**?"

She frowned as he stood up, towering above her. She pulled her legs beneath her, simultaneously tilting her head to one side – than the other. "I…" She was analyzing him, considering her words. "I think you need to talk to your brother."

Within the next five seconds, Sam's mouth went dry; yet again, his tongue magnetized itself to the bottom of his mouth; his shoulders went limp, his vision blurred, sweat started making its way down his forehead and underarms. _So, maybe it was Dean_.

* * *

First, he wondered how they met. 

Next, he worried about how Dean might have hit on her.

Then, he came to the conclusion that Dean must have been spying on him – looking out for him, for a very, very long time.

The smells of bar-b-q and beers whiffed their way through the wide open park. Overhead, in the trees, crickets chirped and laughter could be heard off in the distance.

The sensation of being watched was upon him again; he knew it was Dean, though.

Obliviously, he tilted his head as Chris, for the hundredth time in his life, blew up a hamburger. _Now that took talent_. Chris just had lots of it.

Jessica snorted and laughed her way along with the two other girls beside her. He had refused to talk to her all day, and presumed that everyone surrounding him knew about it.

"Well," Sam looked up; Chris, with his southern twang, was saying something to him – waving another black burger over his head with the pitch-fork. "This one's yours, Sam."

Sam grinned; for once, he was glad Chris had burnt a hamburger. He needed that moment, but he didn't know why.

Cautiously, he turned to look at Jess. She was staring at him; _no_, she was staring past him, at something – _or someone_ coming their way. Impulsively, he turned too – the object came into focus and it stopped dead-step.

His and the object's gazes locked for a second, and then they fell apart. Before, he thought his mouth couldn't get any drier – but now, it was just as worse as the Sahara. His heart was definitely going to break out of his body, nonetheless destroy his ribs in a matter of seconds. The object began moving towards him; daring itself to stare into Sam's eyes once more.

"Hi, Sam," The same deep voice, now hoarse with worry; the same hazel-green eyes, now filled with liquid; the same twice-broken nose, still making the creature's face more unique and gorgeous to all the women surrounding it. "We need to talk," _The same Dean_. _The same big brother that he had been yearning for since he left him._

In a small part of his brain, he knew that all five of the people he'd come with were staring at him in confusion; wondering what they should do.

In the bigger hunk of the thinking portion of his brain, part of him told him that he should hug his brother, and never let go. Part of it told him to follow his brother to, where he supposed, the Impala would be parked. The other part of him told him to stay in this moment; lock it inside of his head, keeping his brother there with him forever.

"Alright," He picked up his foot, not turning to look back at his friends – nor Jessica; he just wanted to follow his brother.

On the walk to the Impala, they didn't say a word; they didn't even dare glance at each other. Once they reached Dean's beloved car, Dean turned to him, leaning his back up against the driver's door. Sam stood exactly two feet away from him – barely reaching the other parking slot.

His life, in this moment, was surreal.

_No_. He was _insane_. Dean wasn't _really_ there with him. Maybe Dean was, but that would make Dean the insane person.

Sam had cussed both his father and his brother out; to the point where it made it impossible for either of them to want to see him again. _That was just how bad the fight was_. It never occurred to any of them before that there were worse things to be said other than, "f—k off," but Sam proved otherwise.

_It **had to be** harder than this…There was **no way in hell** he was two-feet across from his brother_.

"Sam," Yet there went Dean's voice again.

"Y-you're really here."

"No. I'm a shape shifter that's gonna change into a hot belly dancer any damn minute, and give you a nice back rub," _Oh. Yeah. **Definitely** Dean_.

Sam's eyes widened as Dean's moistened progressively.

"You've been watching me?" Maybe Dean would let him have his say again.

"Yeah," His voice was soft.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks."

"And Tony?"

"He knew."

"Jess?"

"She knew."

"How?"

Dean shifted from foot to foot, producing a slight grimace. "She caught me breaking into your apartment."

Sam gave a half smile.

"I just wanted to make sure you're keeping everything safe. Nice way to hide the rock salt under the floor panels, by the way."

His grin continued, only faltering when he saw the look on Dean's face.

"I'm mad at you, Sammy."

"De-" Maybe _he_ was just good at being interrupted at.

"I'm mad at you, and I don't know why."

"I can understand that."

"What you did-" Dean shifted feet again, whipping the back of his hand over his eyes. "What you did to dad and me was unforgivable."

"How can it be _all that_ unforgivable?" His voice was in a whisper now.

"_You_ are the _one_ who said **_you disowned_** us."

"I-" _I'm sorry wasn't gonna cut it_. "I know."

"The only reason I'm here is because of your blonde," Sam grunted at that remark. Jess _hated_ that term.

"I'm glad you found her, Sammy. She's nice. I saw what you're going to give her. I'm happy for you."

Sam gulped; a tear made its way out of his eye.

"If," He swallowed again, looking at his brother, square in the eye. "If she says yes – I need you to come."

_Not want; need_. There had to be a significant difference in between the two of those words.

"_Sam_." Thick with uncertainty – _just what Sam didn't want to hear_.

"I **_missed_** you, Dean. I felt your gaze, and I missed you even more."

"You felt?" Dean coughed; he'd always been so cautious. "I _missed_ you too, Sammy." _But it's not that easy_.

"And I-" Sam's voice was catching up with the dryness in his mouth. "I'm so _very_ sorry."

"You-" Dean frowned, taking a step towards his brother. "You've got your own life now; you've moved on."

"It's a picture. It's not right. Not right without you and dad."

"I thought you didn't want to hunt!"

"I don't; but that doesn't mean I'll give my apple-pie-life up for my family."

"You can't give this up now," Dean gestured, throwing his arms mid-way up in the air.

"_No_. I can't. But I can see you; I can be on speaking terms with you. _You're my brother_."

"_Sammy_…" His voice laid on the caution. One more step and he could hug his brother.

"**_Please_**, Dean. You've got to stay. You've got to meet my friends – get to know Jess."

"Dammit, Sam."

"_**Dean**, please_?"


	4. Chapter 4

Actions, not Words

Chapter 4

Conclusion

Stubbornly, Dean opened the Impala's door, about to climb in.

"_No_," He hated not remembering that his brother could move quicker than a flash of lightning; Sam was now in the passenger's seat.

"Get up."

"_No_," Now, Sam was the stubborn one; his brother was **_not_** going to leave. "Not until you agree to spend a week here with me."

"But, Sam," Dean shifted himself to look at his brother. Sam was taller – nearly by about two inches, he'd aged some in the face; he looked…sadder. "Dad needs me on a hunt in New Orleans. There's a crazy-assed poltergeist down there."

"Does dad even know you're here?" It was a question that sent chills up and down Dean's spine.

"Yes."

"So, how mad at me is dad?"

"He's not half as mad at you as I am," _That was an understatement_, Sam knew. John had the temper of a…_well,_ something worse than a poltergeist.

"That's a lie."

"Not really."

"Dean-"

"I think you'd better get out of my car."

"Where are you staying?"

"On Mrs. Daisy's farm. _Where the hell_ do you think I'm staying, Sam?!"

"In a crummy motel?"

"No. Tony's going easy on me this time around."

_Oh. Right. Tony_.

"Oh, yeah. And he's a fine example of how un-mad at you dad is. Dad played pool against Tony so the man would come here and watch over you."

"The bar," Sam's eyes lingered on a Ketchup stain on his jacket. "Was all because of me?"

"Yeah," Dean's head went firmly up-against his head rest. "You know, Tony always wanted it in a more '_secluded'_' area."

"Yeah, I guess I did know that," Sam's face formed a fast-faltering smile. "Stay?"

"Dammit, Sam."

"You've said that already."

"I-"

"Jess makes really good cookies," This time, he got to interrupt.

"I know that. She gave me some after I broke into your apartment," It took a minute for both brothers to realize just how sick that sounded; they both grinned.

"Stay? Please? Our couch will pull out and make a bed."

"I know; Jessica demonstrated that on the night you were drunk. She thinks you needed me there for some reason."

"Oh," _Maybe he shouldn't have been so mad at Jess_…"So, she was trying?"

"She was trying to make us meet right then and there."

"She's good."

"I'm happy for you."

"You've said that already."

"I _really_ should go, Sam."

"Dean, please at least meet my friends; and get to know Jess. Stay at least one night so we can talk things through again."

"…"

"Dean!"

"Fine. But remember, Sam; this isn't for you; this for me."

"Ok."

They both grinned; Sam finally leaned over and hugged his brother for the first time in four years.

* * *

"I'd like you to meet my brother," Sam paused long enough to gesture to Dean standing beside him. "Dean Winchester." 

"Dude, it's nice to meet you," Chris leaned in, the first to shake Dean's hand; Sam was glad Elizabeth and Tag were gone.

"I didn't know Sam had a younger brother," It was Ava this time; she received a glare from three people, and a smirk from the new comer.

"Yeah, well Sam just doesn't like to talk about me that much," Dean, once again, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. His face remained glum, Jessica was standing back, and Sam was left with not knowing what to do.

"He's my **_older_** brother," He refused to let himself age worse than his brother.

"Oh," Ava spoke silently; her eyes jotted from Sam, to Dean, and then to the green grass.

"It's getting late. Dean's going to stay with us," He turned to Jess, she nodded.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna take off in my own direction."

**Absolutely not**. Sam jumped for his brother who was beginning to turn and walk away. There was _no way in hell_ Dean was going to get away with leaving him. Dean had been wise; he had placed Sam in front of his friends and then was going to drop him like a hot-potato. And he had Dean grinning back there; he saw it – he wasn't dumb.

"For _Christ's-sakes_, Dean," That got the older man to pause, also bringing on wondering stares from his friends. "You're the **stupid jerk** who wanted to talk to me in the first place. You're the ass that has been spying on me. Who the hell are you to leave, now?" With those words, Ava, Chris, and Jess began walking in another direction.

"Who the hell were you to leave dad and me back then?" Dean paused, his eyes round with anger. "And, Sam; no matter how many damn times we go over this, it's always gonna end up in some hectic fight. I think it would be better if you left me alone, let me walk away – **and you live your life**. The '**_normal_**' life that **_you_** wanted."

"What about what _you_ said back there? What about what _I_ said back there?"

"How do I know it's not a bunch of lies?"

"Because it isn't."

Dean didn't say anything; he was wordlessly giving Sam another chance.

"Because I'm your brother, and **that's **the way it's supposed to be. We're supposed to fight; and then, we're supposed to forgive."

"How am I supposed to forgive you?"

"With time; by staying."

Sam was acting like a young child, Dean knew; but it was the pleading child that Dean remembered.

"You can stay; and, if it doesn't work out; I won't keep you from going."

"Sam-"

"Dean, please. I'd give **_anything_**. It's true, _I do need_ **_you_**. You're the one who has kept me sane for all of those years."

"And Jessica? And your friends?"

"Jessica, I assume, already likes you. My friends will like you. **_Please_**. You're my brother."

* * *

It was the sixth day, and it was fifteen minutes until midnight. Dean was a professional; he'd be damned to leave at the strike of the witching-hour, but he was going to. Sam and Jess were asleep; and he couldn't face saying goodbye to his brother – _again_. 

Tony, he knew, would faithfully watch Sam. He would report to Dean and John if Sam got into trouble. He would report to Dean on how Sam's wedding went – i_f Sam ever got past his fear of clowns long enough to propose_.

The overall truth was, he had had fun. He got to know Sam's friends – he got to sit through six days of Sam telling stories about their non-demonic child hood. Dean chipped in on those as well. They laughed; that drank. Dean found himself finding Jessica as the perfect match for Sam; she was the sexy-female version of his personality. He enjoyed Ava; she was cute. By the way Sam looked back and forth between the two of them, he knew Sam wanted them to hook up; that wouldn't be happening, though. Sam hadn't told Jessica about their real childhood; and that was fine.

Dean's eyes, for the hundredth time during his stay, grew moist as he picked up his worn-out duffel bag.

**_He'd miss Sam_**. He **wanted** to be Sam's **brother**; but Sam _did have_ a new life ahead of him, now.

He'd even miss Jess, and the comfortable bed – the smells of homemade cookies everyday. She'd be a good mother, without a doubt.

**_Dean didn't want to leave_**. He didn't want to leave this new place he wanted to also call home. He didn't want to leave someone he'd been watching for _so_ long; and fear the chance at never seeing him again.

"You're going?" He paused an inch away from the doorknob. Sam knew him a little too well. He watched his brother flip on the lamp light; Sam was in his boxer shorts and a night-T, while Dean was clad in jeans.

"I've got to, Sammy," His brother's eyes were full too.

"You'll come back? Visit?" It was hopeful; Dean's hand was turning the door knob.

"Whenever I get a chance."

Sam couldn't tell if it was in fast-forward motion, or in extra-slow motion; all he could remember was watching Dean walk out of his apartment. "**_I love you_**," It needed to be said, even though Dean couldn't hear him. He'd gotten his second chance; he just hoped he used it to the best of his advantage. Yet, deep-down, he knew Dean wouldn't return to visit with him – maybe just to see him. And maybe, _next time_, Tony would say something so he could make the action of seeing Dean first, the next go-round.

It was always true_; you don't know what you have, until it's gone_.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it. And I apologize for the miserable ending I spouted out... I've had more musings in continuing this verse, and will think about posting them. (Maybe Sam will be the one hunting Dean down next time). 

As for the reviewers: Thank you so very much for reading this! Taking the time out of your day to review and critique is always helpful to an author.


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